by Elise Noble
“Don’t be fooled by Ling’s size. She’s vicious with those thumbs.” Now she told him. “She got her hands on Black once, and the next time Bradley scheduled him a session, he suddenly remembered he had to do an Iron Man and flew to Hawaii.”
“Why haven’t you tied concrete blocks to her feet and dropped her into the Thames?”
“Because she’s also good. You’ll feel like magic tomorrow. Now, where were we? Hegler. Mack’s been digging, and we’ve got three possibles. Lucky it was an unusual name. One’s an art dealer working out of the free port in Geneva. The second is an aide to Senator Carnes. Well, ex-Senator seeing as he resigned two months ago. And the third’s a fund manager in New York. I’m thinking the free-port guy’s the best possibility. Those places are stuffed full of stolen loot.”
Ordinarily, Alaric would’ve agreed with her. A free port, one of those fortresses that sprang up around seaports and airports to facilitate the sale and storage of goods without hefty tax penalties, would be the perfect place to hide Red After Dark. But not this time.
Alaric winced as Ling dug in. “It’s Carnes.”
“How do you know?”
There was no accusation that he might be wrong, just curiosity.
“Two reasons. First, I have the log showing every private jet that took off from Heathrow last Wednesday.”
“Nice. Mack’s still trying to get hold of that.”
“You can tell her to stop. Naz had a backdoor.”
“Noted. So, who was on the list?”
“Doug Jenks. Multimillionaire philanthropist and long-time friend of Carnes.”
“That could be a coincidence. Doesn’t he have business interests over here?”
“Yes, and if it had been Emerald we were hunting, I’d say the same thing. But it’s not. It’s Red After Dark. Remember that anonymous quarter-million-dollar reward a kind-hearted donor offered for the painting’s return?”
“Shit. Carnes?”
The Becker Museum had offered fifty thousand bucks per stolen piece, but then Carnes came along and blew their bounty out of the water. Said he’d seen the painting once and it spoke to him.
“Got it in one. And the museum director told me Carnes had asked to buy Red on several occasions, but they always turned him down.”
“Reckon he was involved in the original theft? That he was just covering his tracks with the reward?”
A good question, but Alaric had spoken to the man right after the heist. His devastation at the loss had certainly seemed genuine. Plus he had his reputation to protect, not to mention a senate seat. And why take all the other paintings? As a smokescreen, surely that was overkill? But thirteen years on… If Red After Dark had come up on the black market, could Alaric see Carnes buying it? Possibly.
“No, I don’t think he was involved originally. But at least I know where I need to head next. He lives in Kentucky, right?”
“Not so fast. You can’t just go steaming in there. We need a plan. Any idea why he quit the senate?”
“The official line is that he resigned to ‘spend time with his family.’ Usually, that means there was a mistress involved somewhere and the wife got pissed, but I understand his wife passed away several years ago.”
“I’ll ask James.”
By James, Emmy meant President James Harrison, another of her exes, although their fling had ended long before he landed the top job. And they’d been damn careful about their liaison. Outside of Emmy and Black’s inner circle, few people knew their dirty little secret.
Emmy and James had stayed friends, at least from her point of view. If you caught Harrison watching her in an unguarded moment and knew what you were looking for, it was clear his feelings still ran deeper than hers. And if anyone was going to know what was going on with Carnes, it was Harrison. It was his job to stay informed. Although Harrison had run as an independent and Carnes was a Republican, they shared the same views in a number of areas, plus Carnes had been chair of the Crime and Terrorism Subcommittee, so he and the president had worked closely on occasion.
Ling did something with her elbows that left Alaric gasping for breath and earned a chuckle from Emmy. Next time, he’d strongly consider the triathlon.
“So I’ll tread carefully,” he choked out.
“Why now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did the painting find its way to Carnes now? It’s been thirteen years since the theft. I just don’t get it.”
“The heat’s died down, and Carnes has taken a step back from the public eye,” Alaric said. “But how he might have found out it was for sale, I have no idea.”
“This whole case gets stranger and stranger every time we dig into it.”
“I keep telling you—Emerald’s cursed, and it seems it’s contagious.”
“Have you been spending time with Bradley’s spiritual advisor? She told me my Viper was cursed when the engine wouldn’t start, but it turned out Nate had just removed the fuse from the fuel pump as a joke.”
Nate was one of her business partners, and that sounded like exactly the kind of stunt he’d pull.
“But—”
“Emerald’s a painting. It’s not fucking cursed. Do you need a ride to the US? We have to take Lenny to rehab this afternoon, but once he’s settled, I’ll be flying to Virginia with Sky. Probably Tuesday.”
“How is Sky?”
“Stubborn. Nosy. Always hungry. Yeah, we’re getting on okay. I’m going parkour training with her tomorrow. Apparently, one of her friends thinks I’m a con artist and he’s worried about her coming with me, so I figured I’d go and set his mind at rest.”
“A ride would be good if there’s room for Bethany too. I hired her to replace Barbara.”
“Judd…slept with Barbara? I thought she was, like, sixty?”
“He accidentally exposed himself.”
“Casanova should come with a warning. I don’t know whether to be pleased or insulted that he’s always kept his dick in his pants around me.”
Emmy had only met Ravi once and never crossed paths with Naz, but she’d experienced Judd’s dubious charms before Alaric did. They’d worked together during Judd’s days at MI6, and he described her as “not just a ball-breaker; she’ll squeeze your nuts in a vice, then run the soggy remains through a mincer.” Fairly accurate if she happened to dislike a man.
“You make him nervous.”
“Good. And going back to your question, yes, there’s space for Bethany on the plane. Are you sure she’s up to the task?”
“I hope so, and I felt bad after we essentially got her fired.”
He’d given Emmy an update on Friday evening, leaving out the rescue from Chaucer’s stable. She didn’t need to know that part.
“Same. She seems okay, and it’s not her fault Pemberton turned out to be morally corrupt. Speaking of Pemberton, are we going to have a word?”
“Let’s follow up on the Carnes angle first. If Pemberton’s handling stolen goods on a regular basis as Beth seems to think, I’d rather save him for the authorities. The Metropolitan Police work with the FBI on occasion. Who knows how many leads he’d be able to give them if they applied enough pressure?”
“You’d hand him over to the people who screwed you?”
“The FBI fired me. The jury’s out on whether they screwed me. They don’t know where the money went either, and I’m still the logical suspect.”
Alaric had watched at the office as the team packed the briefcase containing a million bucks in hundred-dollar bills and nine million in diamonds. Each serial number had been recorded, and the rocks came straight from a safe in the evidence room. Everything had been genuine. After Alaric’s boss had selected a combination and locked the briefcase, he’d officially transferred it into Alaric’s custody with a warning: “Lose this, lose your damn job.”
How prescient.
The briefcase had only been out of Alaric’s sight four times between the handover at FBI headquarters and the moment it was
opened by Dyson. The first time had been in the office. He’d left it next to his desk while he went to the john, and nobody had gone in or out of the room during that time. Not only had the half-dozen colleagues seated at nearby desks attested to that fact, but a security camera had backed them up.
The second time was when he’d stopped for gas en route to the Riverley estate. Rather than draw attention to his cargo by carrying it to the kiosk, he’d left it locked in the trunk. The car had stayed in his sight until a panel truck parked next to it in the middle of the transaction, blocking the view of the security camera as well. A minute or two, that’s all it had been, and Alaric had kept the car key in his hand for the duration.
The third time? That had been at Little Riverley, Emmy’s home. With the house secured by a system that rivalled Fort Knox, he’d left the case downstairs in the living room when things got heated on the couch and they moved to the bedroom. They’d been the only people in the house that night, and every door and window was alarmed. The logs showed nobody had snuck in, and the system had been armed for his entire stay. Plus, as if that wasn’t secure enough, the whole of the Riverley estate was wired with cameras and motion detectors, and as well as having regular guard patrols, two men monitored the place twenty-four seven from the gatehouse. They’d seen no one, and the only nocturnal visitors to trip the sensors that night had been deer and a low-flying owl. The guards themselves had checked in regularly with the control room at Blackwood’s headquarters, none of them knew about the briefcase, and Emmy had vouched for her team. And her husband. When Alaric mooted the possibility that Black had been involved, she’d dismissed the idea completely. Apparently, he had an alibi. And no matter how much Alaric would have liked to get the asshole out of the picture, he trusted Emmy’s judgement. At that point, she was the only person he’d trusted.
Did he ever suspect her? No. While she’d had the opportunity, she didn’t have a motive. Alaric didn’t know her exact net worth, but he’d estimated it was at least ten times the pay-off amount, so why would she risk everything with petty theft? Hell, afterwards she’d offered to give him the ten million bucks if it would help. But by that point, his reputation was already in the toilet, and besides, it was his mess, not hers.
The last time the briefcase had been out of sight was as he’d climbed onto the scallop boat. Dyson’s men had hauled it over the rail on a rope as Alaric climbed the ladder and tried not to puke. Again, the time window had been short, but could they have made the switch? Dyson was one of the few people who knew the contents, because he’d specified it. The sticking point was the briefcase itself. It had disappeared along with Dyson so they couldn’t be certain it was the same one, but it had opened with the right combination, and from what Alaric remembered, it had looked identical.
So, where had the pay-off gone? He had no idea, and neither did the FBI after a two-month investigation involving over fifty agents, plus another fifteen from Blackwood. The FBI had wanted to charge him, but the lack of evidence either way meant they couldn’t have made it stick. So they mothballed the case. Let him off with a promise that he’d never work for a US government agency again.
Which was why he was currently getting his back pummelled by a woman with thumbs of steel and seemingly a grudge against all men. If the massage thing didn’t work out, she’d excel as a dominatrix.
“You’re still the only suspect,” Emmy pointed out.
“Thanks for reminding me. But in answer to your question, most of the old Art Crime Team members have moved on, and even if one of the remaining few is dirty, they’re probably doing sweet fuck all while they count their diamonds and wait for retirement. The new agents will follow a tip, and people deserve to get their paintings back.”
“You’re not interested in finding them yourself?”
“Not anymore. I enjoyed the work back then, but now? I’ve moved on with Sirius. I prefer being my own boss, and even though the income’s sporadic, I’m making a hell of a lot more than I did at the Bureau.”
Emmy grinned. “Finally. Welcome to the private sector.”
“But I still want to find that damn painting. Paintings. Now I want Red back too.”
“Then I guess we’ll be paying a visit to Mr. Carnes later on this week.”
“You’ll come?”
“That asshole Dyson shot at me too. Do you need somewhere to stay in the US until you sort out a place? I’ve got spare bedrooms.”
“Black would be just thrilled about that.”
“Black needs to learn to get over himself. If you want some distance, the guest house out the back’s empty.”
“I can’t leave Beth on her own. I’m supposed to be training her in the necessities. Usually, Judd does it, but his track record with staff retention needs work.”
“There are three bedrooms in the guest house. Bring who you want.”
“In that case, thanks.”
Emmy’s voice softened, as did her expression. “My motives aren’t entirely altruistic. I’ve missed having you around. Just to talk to, you know?”
“Missed you too, Cinders.” Alaric reached across and so did Emmy, and he gave her hand a squeeze. Yes, it was good to be at least partially back in the fold, so to speak. “I’ve been wondering… What happened to Casa Malizia? Did you sell it?”
“Without your agreement? No. We should get the first commercial harvest this year. Wine and olive oil.” She paused, biting her lip. “When you got shafted by the FBI and then your parents, I figured you’d need an income, so I had the place replanted. Twenty hectares of grapes and five of olive trees.”
Fuck. That was why he’d fallen in love with Emmy. Not because of her looks or her money or even her brain, but for the heart she kept hidden from most of the world.
“You did all that for me?”
“I don’t abandon the people I care about.”
Her words knifed straight through his chest. “I deserved that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“What about the house?”
“When you didn’t come back, I let nature take its course. I hear the place is still standing, more or less.”
A bit like their relationship. Rotten, ruined, but not quite crumbled into the ground completely. Emmy had done the hard work so far. Now it was down to Alaric to shore up the foundations. Somehow.
“Cinders, I’m sorry. Sorry I broke, sorry I ran, sorry I wasn’t good enough for you.”
“I survived. I always will. We were both broken, but I had Black to pick up my pieces. As time went on, I only hoped you had someone to pick up yours.”
A vision of Beth popped into Alaric’s head, her lips parted as she moaned out her orgasm. Fuck. She wasn’t there to pick up his pieces. He was meant to be picking up hers.
“The first couple of years were tough, but founding Sirius helped. Gave me a purpose again. Now we just have to make it a success.”
“I’ll do everything I can to help, but Alaric?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you fucking dare hurt me like that again.”
Yes, he’d forgotten how mercurial Emmy could be. “I won’t, Cinders. I promise I won’t.”
Abruptly, she sat up, her back to Alaric, the towel slipping from her ass, and switched from French back to English.
“Ling, get these bloody needles out of me. I have a meeting.”
Ah, the old meeting excuse. Emmy still didn’t tolerate emotion well, it seemed.
“Talk to you later, Cinders. I’ll show myself out.”
CHAPTER 32 - SKY
TWO DAYS UNTIL my new life began. Inside, I was nervous as hell, but Emmy told me never to show fear. She certainly didn’t.
“Are you ready?” she shouted through the bedroom door. “We need to go.”
“Just coming.”
I’d sat down with Lenny yesterday and explained where he was going—to the Abbey Clinic. At first, I thought he might refuse, might cause a scene in the hospital, but then he’d slumped back onto the pillow
s and mumbled something about it being “now or never.”
I checked my reflection in the mirror. How did I look? Like the sister of someone who could afford the ten-grand-a-month prices? Smart clothes made me uncomfortable, but Emmy was teaching me about the need to fit in. Last night, we’d gone out for dinner at a fancy restaurant and I wore a dress. A freaking dress! But she was right—people looked at me differently. Treated me differently.
And over a meal of twiddly food I couldn’t pronounce, Emmy had started my education. First, she’d had me check out the room. Discreetly. Where were my exits? Did I have cover if somebody started shooting? What were the walls made from? Would a bullet ricochet? Were there cameras? Smoke detectors? A sprinkler system? The ceiling…solid or dropped? How many windows? Were they at street level? If there was a sniper, where would he hide? Or she—don’t be sexist. Then she started on the people. The staff first. Did any of them look like they didn’t belong? Were they smooth or klutzy? Was it the kind of establishment that paid well? People with money were harder to bribe. What about the patrons? Could I see the couple in the corner? That woman was not his wife. The two businessmen—what did the one with the blue tie just pass under the table? And so it went on. For a girl used to grabbing a bargain bucket from The Chicken Hut, it sure had been an eye-opener.
Today, I put on a pair of black slacks and cinched the waist in with a belt. Emmy was the same height as me but heavier, although the extra weight was all muscle. I was making do with her clothes until Bradley bought me my own. And the best part? We had the same size feet, and she must’ve had three thousand pairs of shoes. Her expensive stilettos were far more comfortable than the cheap ones I owned, plus they looked better too. I finished up with a simple grey silk shell and a low ponytail, already a different girl to the person I’d been last week, and opened the door.
“About bloody time,” Emmy grumbled.
“I feel a hundred years old.”
“Yeah, well, you look appropriate. Apart from the chewing gum—get rid of that before we go.”